Sublime

Sympathy with the fluttering alder and poplar leaves almost takes away my breath; yet, like the lake, my serenity is rippled but not ruffled.

But that face, that human, was gone. Mother Nature, as Tennyson said, is “red in tooth and claw,” demolishing every beautiful thing she has ever created.

I was pulled deeper into the current of language.

Percy Shelley in “A Defense of Poetry,”

Yet with the chariots can I still go forth, And aid with sage advice: for such the right And privilege of age;

Sometimes, indeed, he left marks in writing on the barks of the trees or cut in stone that guided me and instigated my fury. "My reign is not yet over"—these words were legible in one of these inscriptions—"you live, and my power is complete. Follow me; I seek the everlasting ices of the north, where you will feel the misery of cold

To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief, Charg'd with the public weal, and cares of state.

But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door.

Brushing the locks aside, he now gazed upon the death-like beauty of the face, and caught immortal sadness from it. She seemed as dead;